


Of Heliotrope and White Clover

by godtier1



Series: Of Gladiolus and Hyssop [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtier1/pseuds/godtier1
Summary: A companion piece to "Of Gladiolus and Hyssop." A series of short one-shots that look into the life of the Djarin-Vanth family.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: Of Gladiolus and Hyssop [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191386
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	1. Heliotrope (Eternal Love)

**Author's Note:**

> These will all be set in the AU of my previous fic, "Of Gladiolus and Hyssop." I would recommend starting there, but these could easily stand on their own as well!

Sand. There was so much sand. It twisted and turned, shaped by the dry winds. And there was heat. So much heat. There were two suns overhead, blazing bright against a motionless sky. There was nothing, for miles and miles. Din was alone, but he also wasn't alone. There was a presence at his hip, both familiar and not. He was moving quickly, and his vision was blurry, gray around the edges. 

And then, there was red. A bright red scarf against a dull, lifeless town, filled with dull, lifeless people. There was a person behind the scarf, but Din could not see their face. His heart ached. The figure spoke, muffled.

“What?” Asked Din, but somehow this was already wrong.

“I asked what brings you to Mos Pelgo, stranger?”

Din did not know what that meant. But already the scene was changing, without his permission. 

There was a beast. It was large, and vague, and angry. He wanted to run, but his instinct told him to fight, to protect these people he knew nothing about. His stomach lurched and he was flying, soaring above the creature’s head. The red scarf was back, as was the person attached to it. The figure held out their hand, and spoke, but Din could not hear what they said. Din reached back, and the weight of their hand felt like home. 

And then the scene rewound, as if Din were viewing a film on a large, grainy television. There was static and white noise. And then the scene resumed, and the beast was upon him. Before he could move, Din was being consumed.

There was heat. An all-encompassing, heavy, wet heat. Nothing like the dry heat of the desert in the scene prior. Din’s thoughts started to blur and muddle together. And then, there was light and sound, bright and loud. An explosion. Did was dying….

Din shot up in bed with a yelp, face gleaming with sweat and unshed tears. Everything was too bright, too loud, his vision white. And then there was silence and darkness. 

“Din?” a voice spoke to his right, rough with sleep. “Din, are you alright?

Din whipped around to face the voice, but it was only Cobb. Only his husband. Even in the dark, he could tell Cobb’s features were etched with concern. 

“Fine. I’m fine….” Din replied, still trying to catch his breath. He brought his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically behind his rib cage.

He was alive.

“Din, darlin, can I touch you?”

Out of the corner of his eye Din could see Cobb, his hand hovering above his shoulder, waiting for an invitation to touch. When Din nodded, he closed the distance, and started to rub the muscles in Din’s back. 

“Nightmare?” He asked, voice soft. Din nodded again, finding it difficult to speak. 

They sat like that in silence, the only sounds coming from Din’s ragged breathing and the sound of Cobb’s hand on the fabric of Din’s nightshirt. 

Once he found his composure, Din found himself completely and utterly exhausted. His head lolled on his chest and his eyes started to droop. He felt Cobb lead him back to the pillows, tucking the blankets tightly around him. As he drifted back under into unconsciousness, he heard Cobb speaking to him. He could not hear what he said, but the words of the figure with the red scarf finally came to the forefront of his mind: 

“I hope our paths cross again.”

Din was by no means a religious man, and when it came to the afterlife he had very little opinion. But if he had been a religious man, he might have taken stock in this recurring dream. Or the numerous other common instances that brought a pause to his step. These occurrences brought a certain feeling to his gut, a feeling of familiarity that nonetheless unnerved him in a way he couldn’t quite pin down. 

There was the time Din’s car broke down, so Cobb had let him take his car to work. Din had gotten in the driver’s seat, a travel mug full of coffee in tow. When his hand touched the gear shift, it was like he had received an electric shock. Unlike in his own car, where the gear shift was made of leather, Cobb’s car had one that was made of cold, hard metal. 

There were three thoughts that hit Din all at once, like being steamrolled by a heavy piece of machinery. The first was of overwhelming familiarity, of long trips across desolate, inhospitable wastelands. Of the only home he had ever known. The second thought was that something was missing, that the shape of the gear shift was not quite right. The third was the most puzzling, but his thoughts had turned to Grogu. Why?

The next thing he knew, Cobb was tapping on the drivers side window, looking rather amused.

“You just gonna sit there all day? You need me to teach you how to drive my car?” he had asked, the teasing evident in his voice. 

Then there was the time they had gone to dinner, just the two of them, Grogu staying the night with Omera and Winta. It was a fancy seafood place, and Cobb had given a low whistle when he saw the price tags on the menu.

“Well, there goes Grogu’s college fund,” he had joked, and then, “might as well make it worth our while. Have you ever tried a Blue Hawaii?”

When their drinks came, the bright blue liquor shining in the lights of the restaurant, Din had paused, hand halfway to the straw. He head swam with thoughts of glass bottles in smoky bars, radiating a faint blue light. He could taste salt on his tongue, not the sweet taste Cobb had promised him when he suggested he try something new. And he thought of a lush, green landscape, dotted with pools of small, fluorescent creatures. 

“What do you think? Good right?” Cobb had asked, smiling around his own straw.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Din had replied. 

The strangest, most common one of all, was the feeling Din got when he and Cobb got dressed in the morning, and Cobb would pull out his favorite red scarf. It had been well-worn and well-loved, slightly tattered around the edges from a lifetime of wear and tear.

The first time had been back in college, the day Cobb introduced himself as, “the most insufferable asshole you’ll ever meet.” He had been wearing that scarf, and Din had never felt more at home. Even now, that scarf was so ingrained in his life that it even permeated his dreams. He would take it from Cobb, the fabric rough on Din’s fingers, and tie it around Cobb’s neck. 

Cobb would smile as he twisted the fabric around, so the tie was facing the back. “Thanks partner.”

No, Din was not a religious man. But these instances in his life felt like religious experiences. Like prayers offered for Grogu’s safety, far away and out of touch. Like communion wine, bright blue and salty. And like Sunday worship, to a red garment and the man who resided underneath.


	2. Anemone (Sickness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick trigger warning for vomiting, but it’s quick and not graphic!

Din was an observant man. He noticed the things around him, especially when they were off-kilter or unexpected. 

He noticed when Omera got her hair cut, just enough for it lay differently around her face.

“It looks nice,” Din had remarked. Omera laughed, surprised he took note of such a minute detail.

He noticed the days that Grogu had dressed himself for school, remarking, “your socks don’t match today buddy.”

But sometimes things escaped his notice, especially when it was purposely hidden from him.

It was small at first. The way Cobb’s face would scrunch up when they entered Grogu’s school for parent/teacher conferences, squinting in the harsh fluorescent lights. The way he would flinch when Grogu turned up the television just a bit too loud. Or the way he would occasionally take a full plate of food back to the kitchen, saying he would eat later and that he wasn’t hungry. 

Din didn’t spare these a second thought, because if something had been wrong, surely Cobb would tell him.

Right?

The day it became impossible for any of this to escape his notice began like any other. Wake up, kiss Cobb, get Grogu on the bus, go to work. The trouble began as soon as he got home.

“Welcome home, Din!” Cobb had greeted from the kitchen. “Sorry, dinner is gonna be late. Because someone,” he glanced to Grogu, who sat at the kitchen table doing homework, “decided he was a starving animal after school and spoiled his dinner with cereal.”

Grogu glanced up, smiling deviously. Cobb laughed.

“I swear, do they not feed you at school? Is our poor son going hungry all day?”

“I’m a growing boy,” he replied, going back to his homework with a smirk. 

Din laughed as he took off his shoes. Grogu had definitely picked up on Cobb’s sass in the few years he had lived with them. 

“That’s fine love, I’m going to shower anyway,” Din replied, pecking Cobb on the cheek and meandering to the master bathroom.

When he emerged, clean and dry, Grogu was in his room, chatting with a friend on the phone. He walked to the kitchen and froze at what he saw.

Cobb was standing over the cutting board, doubled over and breathing heavily. His hands were clenched into fists, and he was still holding a knife. His face was pinched, and his eyes shut tight.

“Cobb?” Din exclaimed, hurrying to his side. “Are you alright?”

“Not… not so loud,” Cobb whispered back, teeth clenched. 

Din held his breath, unsure as to what to do. He slowly unfurled Cobb’s right hand, taking the knife and setting it to the side. 

“What can I do to help?” Din whispered back, eyes scanning over Cobb’s body for any obvious injuries.

“Just… hrrng!” Cobb gagged, rushing to the sink, and vomited. Din jumped back, alarmed, as Cobb heaved up the contents of his stomach. 

“Oh my god,” Din said, putting his hand on Cobb’s back as he retched. The next moment Grogu was coming out of his room, looking concerned at the sight.

“Is Cobb ok?” He asked, clearly scared.

“He’s fine, go back to your room buddy,” Din said, making a shooing motion with his free hand.

Then Cobb was sinking to his knees, clutching at his head. He was clearly not fine.

“Lights…” he gasped, “turn them off… please…”

Din did as he was told, leaving Cobb’s side for a moment, and then returned in the darkness of the room. 

“What hurts?” Din asked, mentally referencing his years of medical training, trying to assess if this warranted a trip to the hospital. 

“Head…” Cobb breathed out, harsh and pained. 

Din though for a moment. “Cobb this sounds like a migraine.”

Cobb did not respond. He sat, posture rigid, as he waited for this spell to pass. 

“Can you stand? I’ll help you to bed. Or I can carry you,” Din whispered, feeling rather helpless. 

Cobb gagged again, but nothing came up this time. “No…” he began, “don’t move me… please.” 

Din thought for a moment, then said, “Alright. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” 

He rushed to their bedroom, grabbed Cobb’s pillow and a blanket from the bed, and brought them out to the kitchen, where Cobb was still clutching at his head. 

He laid the pillow on the cold, hard kitchen linoleum. “Can you lay down? I can help you.” 

Cobb hummed, and even that sounded clipped and pained. Din nodded as he helped Cobb lay back against the pillow, covering his lanky form with the blanket as he did so. 

Cobb curled up on his side, eyes still shut tight. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Din paused, and then carefully put his hand in Cobb’s, who immediately gripped him so tight that he felt like his fingers would bruise. 

They sat like that, on the hard floor, for two hours. Din’s legs had long since fallen asleep, but he refused to move. Once he seemed to be out of immediate danger, Din got up and ordered food for Grogu, knowing Cobb would not want their son to go to bed hungry. Din made sure Grogu ate, reassured him that Cobb would be alright, and tucked him into bed. When he returned to the kitchen, Cobb’s eyes were open, blinking blearily in the dark stillness of the room. Din tiptoed to his side, afraid of making too much noise. 

“Hey love,” he whispered. “How’s your head?”

Cobb sighed. “M’ok.” Then, “that was a rough one.”

Din sat back on his heels. “You mean this has happened before?” 

Cobb hummed his affirmation. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? And how have I never been here when this has happened?” Din asked, quiet frustration in his voice.

Cobb sighed again. “This is only the third time it’s been that bad. Usually I can shrug it off when you or Grogu are around. Once it was bad when I was home alone. The other time you two were asleep, and I rode it out on the couch.”

Din’s heart broke. Cobb had been hurting, for a while now, and had been enduring it by himself. Utterly alone and in pain. 

“Cobb,” he started, in that firm, kind voice he usually reserved for when he would admonish Grogu, “please don’t shut us out. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. We’re a family, and we love you.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Cobb said, hazel eyes bright in the dark. 

“I know. But don’t you think we would worry less if we could help you?”

Cobb exhaled loudly, knowing he had been backed into a corner. Finally, he said, “yeah, you’re right. I know you’re right, and I should have said something sooner. I’m sorry.” 

Din smiled sadly. “It’s ok, I’m not angry. You just scared me real bad.” 

They sat like that in silence for a moment longer, before Din said, “I think you’re having legit migraines, Cobb. We really should get you to a doctor for a proper diagnosis.” 

“Aw can’t you diagnose me yourself, super nurse?” Cobb drawled, batting his eyelashes. Din laughed. There he was, his husband was back. 

“I diagnose you with major pain in the ass syndrome.”

Cobb returned his laugh, sounding more like himself than he had in the last three hours. “Well, that one's incurable, but I’ll see a doctor about the migraines.” 

In time, Cobb got his diagnosis. He was told that as he aged, the headaches could start coming on more strongly, and more frequently. But he wasn’t too worried. As long as he had Din and Grogu by his side, he would be just fine.


	3. Angelica (Inspiration)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say I’m going to be jumping around in the timeline here, so if in the next chapter Grogu is younger again, don’t panic!

“Dad, this is too fancy. It’s just a school dance,” Grogu complained as Din helped him style his hair in the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t you want to look nice for Winta bud? She’ll be wearing a dress.”

Cobb laughed from where he had been quietly observing in the doorway. “Yeah Din, but not a wedding dress. I think he can lose the suit jacket.”

Din sighed as Grogu vigorously nodded his agreement with his other dad. He helped his son out of the offending garment, and adjusted the collar on his button up shirt.

“Ok fine, but if Winta is going to look nice, you should too.”

Cobb put his hands up in mock surrender. “I don’t disagree with you there.” 

Grogu was fifteen now, a freshman in high school. When he had told his dads he wanted to go to the homecoming dance with Winta as friends, Din had sighed in relief. 

“Good, he’s too young to date,” Din had told Cobb as they shopped for groceries on a Saturday afternoon. Cobb had just rolled his eyes as he threw some cereal in the cart.

“Didn’t you have your first girlfriend when you were his age?”

Din had opened his mouth to object, but quickly shut it when he had realized his husband was right. 

In the current moment, Grogu was looking over his reflection anxiously, turning to his dads. “Do I look okay?”

Din nodded his approval as Cobb had given him a smile and two thumbs up. 

Din would never get used to these little milestones. It felt like just yesterday that his baby had been toddling off to preschool, his backpack looking ridiculously too large for him. Now he was bringing home packets with headers that said, “it’s never too early to start thinking about college!”

Cobb placed a hand on his husband’s shoulders. “Okay,” he said, “I’m going to drop Grogu off at school. Can you start on dinner?”

Din nodded, throat tight. He gave Grogu a little wave as he walked out the front door with Cobb, not sure how he should feel. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, until he sighed and went to the kitchen to start chopping vegetables. 

Cobb returned a half hour later, hanging up his winter coat and shivering. 

“It’s fucking freezing out there,” he said, rubbing at his arms. 

Din chuckled from the kitchen. “Cobb it’s September.” His husband had always run ten degrees colder than the rest of the world.

Cobb threw his hands up incredulously. “I know! I hate it!” He walked up behind Din and snaked his hands around his waist, settling his head on his shoulder. “Hi,” he said. “You ok?”

Din wasn’t sure how to respond. Was he ok? He felt like he was being overly dramatic. Omera hadn’t reacted like this, and neither had Cobb. When the three of them had chatted over coffee the week prior, the dance had barely been brought up at all. 

“Yes, Winta is looking forward to it!” Omera had remarked as she sipped on her chai latte. And then she had turned to Cobb and asked him if he had seen the newest post on the baking blog they both followed (he had) and the subject was dropped. 

Why was this so difficult?

There was silence, save for the sounds of a knife cutting through carrots and rain falling against the kitchen window. Then Cobb was perking up, and he untangled himself from Din. He stood up straight, a grin on his face, and bowed. 

Din looked over, wondering what his husband was up to, when Cobb extended a hand and said, “Din Djarin-Vanth, will you do me the honor of this dance?”

Din blanched for a moment, confused, before full on laughing. Cobb always knew how to make him feel better.

“Cobb Vanth-Djarin, my dear, nothing would make me happier.”

So they had danced, simple and sweet, in their modest kitchen. Their socks slipped slightly on the linoleum, and Cobb had laughed as he caught Din around the middle, stopping him from sliding to the floor. 

“Don’t break a hip, old man,” he had said, cheekily. 

Instead of teenage pop and the occasional 80s ballad, their music was the rain pelting the roof outside and the sound of Cobb humming, slightly off-key. Instead of slacks and bright colored dresses, their attire was sweatpants and hoodies. And instead of new infatuation and first kisses, theirs was aged, time-honored love, three decades in the making. 

They lost track of time, dancing and laughing, dinner long forgotten. They only stopped when Din’s phone rang, Grogu on the other end asking when Cobb was going to pick him and Winta up. 

Later that night, when Grogu had shyly confessed to Winta kissing his cheek at the dance, Din had decided that maybe it was time to let go… just a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm godtier1 on tumblr! Come talk with me about Din x Cobb!


End file.
